


Maybe It's Fate

by a_steady_wish



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Episode: s07e04 Millenium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_steady_wish/pseuds/a_steady_wish
Summary: And yet, on this Friday, in a dank parking garage with the sound of the vent system whirring in Mulder’s eardrums, he led Scully to her car and then… she reached up to him on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth.





	Maybe It's Fate

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to the prompt "How drunk was I?" and posted on Tumblr first under that title.

On any given Saturday night, Mulder could usually figure out where Scully was. The first guess would be at her mother’s – and if not there, she might have gone to the bookstore, her low-fat dairy-free decaf coffee in hand as she wandered the aisles. More than once he had come upon her there, as if by accident, and they both pretended it was such a happy coincidence, that he had stumbled upon her that way.

They were getting pretty damn good at pretending.

Mulder was in love with her, and was getting tired of hiding it. A little more each day, he felt the need to say something, to do something; his hands were drawn to her face, her hair; his lips wanted to whisper sweet nothings against the soft curve of her ear. It was Scully that held him back, every time. He would be on the cusp of doing something romantic – or stupid – and then she would look up at him with those amazing steel-blue eyes, serious and fierce, and his nerve would be lost. The fact was that she was his partner, his best friend, and his only real ally in the world; he couldn’t risk losing her just because he had fallen in love for her. He had kissed her on New Year’s Eve, but that could easily be explained away; she hadn’t brought it up afterwards, and he didn’t have the nerve to try again, without a plausible excuse.

No, he would have to let this be her decision. She would have to make the first move. And if she never did… Well, then he would learn to be content with what they had forever.

Friday had been an average day, as far as they could have such a thing; they had finished a small, simple case, turned in the paperwork, and left the office after dark. It was at Scully’s car door that an event had taken place that turned Mulder’s world on its axis: Scully kissed him.

Now, it wasn’t anything that anyone else would get worked up about, but this was Scully, his Scully, who rarely showed emotion or need when her very lifeblood was leaving her and she as gasping for her last breaths. Scully, who had fought cancer with barely a hiccup and refused to miss work unless she was hospitalized; Scully who had attended her own child’s funeral and then walked back to the car and asked Mulder to take her home, barely a quiver in her voice. Mulder knew she was a real woman with normal wants and needs; she had a tattoo on her lower back to prove it. But with him, and in the context of work, she had always been so incredibly stoic and strong, that it threw him off-kilter when she lifted the veil around herself.

And yet, on this Friday, in a dank parking garage with the sound of the vent system whirring in Mulder’s eardrums, he led Scully to her car and then… she reached up to him on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth.

Just like that: one brief, albeit more than friendly, kiss.

And then she got into her car, gave him a slight wave, and drove away.

Mulder stood, stunned and speechless, in the center of the parking space for some time. He wasn’t sure, to be honest, how long he stood there; only that, at a certain point, he realized that he had been there much longer than necessary and that if someone was watching him on a security camera, they would wonder if he had either lost his mind or needed medical help. So he tried, best as he could, to gather his senses and head home.

All night he tossed and turned, thinking of her sweet, warm lips on his. All night he felt himself growing hard, and pushed away thoughts of her beautiful body writhing against him, of what her voice would sound like moaning his name. He didn’t want to let himself fantasize about her that way; he loved and respected her too much. And he couldn’t bear to be disappointed if he started to dream of it and then she rejected him.

In the morning, tired but hopeful, Mulder went for a run, had a shower, picked up some groceries. Checked his messages: no calls from Scully. He watched some sports on television, did a load of laundry, walked down to get his mail. Checked his messages again: still nothing. Finally, he gave into the nagging voice at the back of his skull that continuously whispered, “Call Scully, call Scully, call Scully,” and he called Scully.

No answer. Dammit. Where might she be at this time on a Saturday?

Mulder did a few dishes, swept his floors and changed his sheets; he put away his basket of clean clothes.

He called Scully again. Still no answer.

Okay, now he really wanted to see her, to hear her voice. He was getting antsy with the need to connect with her. His lips still tingled with the memory of hers pressed against them, and his arms ached to wrap themselves around her little body and pull her close. He thought he might go mad if he didn’t see her, hear her, touch her soon.

So Mulder did something he usually only reserved for when he thought Scully was in danger: he got in his car and went to find her. A drive past her apartment building showed her car gone and the lights off; he tried the bookstore, with no luck; he swallowed any pride that may have remained and called her mother.

“Didn’t she go out tonight?” Maggie asked, with the sound of a bread machine mixing behind her. “I think she had dinner plans.”

Dinner plans. The words stuck in Mulder’s craw like a stone. Scully had dinner plans? With who? And why? Had she only kissed him earlier because she was feeling flirty… and now she was out… with someone else?

Oh fuck.

A thousand things crossed Mulder’s mind in the few seconds that he took to breathe deeply. The most prominent was to ask Mrs. Scully where her daughter might be having dinner, but he pushed that aside. Scully was an independent woman, after all, who deserved her autonomy and his respect, much as he wanted to find her tonight. He thanked Mrs. Scully, stuck his phone back in his jacket pocket, and turned toward home.

It was on a whim that Mulder pulled into Vincenzo’s to grab a meal to go. The restaurant was warm, inviting; the smell of fresh Italian food filled his nostrils and his stomach growled.

As he stood at the take-out counter, waiting for his order, he heard it: a genuine Scully laugh. A head-thrown-back, hands gripping the table, little feet kicking the floor kind of laugh. Mulder didn’t hear them often, but he loved them. Some stupid asshole is making Scully laugh like that, Mulder concluded, horrified. He suddenly lost his appetite, and began searching the large room, over the tops of the deep, comfortable booths, for a flash of red hair that belonged to the love of his life.

Ah, there she is. All the way at the back angled somewhat towards him – though she couldn’t have seen him yet – was his Scully, in a pretty royal blue dress that showed a bit of cleavage, her hair curled a little at the ends, her face rosy with wine and laughter. Mulder’s stomach continued to churn and his feet began to move – Where are we going? He silently asked his body as it moved of its own volition. He knew the answer, of course.

“Scully,” he breathed out as he approached her table, disgusted by the desperation he heard in his own voice.

Scully looked up from her companion, surprised. He was waiting to see her disappointment, her annoyance, in finding him there; instead she smiled and scooted over in her seat.

“Mulder!” she said happily, “Join us! I mean, if you want to? Mulder, this is my old friend Ellen; Ellen, this is my partner Mulder that you’ve heard so much about.”

Ellen. That’s a woman’s name. Relief flooded through Mulder as he turned around to meet her, breathing rapidly and trying not to grin like a buffoon, one trembling hand reaching out to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Ellen, Scully’s old friend Ellen,” he stammered, pumping her hand a few times.

Ellen was Scully’s age, with long brown hair and green eyes. She had a largely pregnant belly and an infectious giggle. Mulder had never been happier to meet someone in his whole life.

“Order something, Mulder,” Scully nudged him with her shoulder. “We just started. You wouldn’t be far behind us.”

“I shouldn’t stay, Scully, I don’t want to intrude,” Mulder said unconvincingly, but the ladies shushed him and the waitress ended up bringing his take-out to the table anyway, along with a beer.

As the three of them ate, the conversation and the laughter were abundant and joyful. Mulder had rarely seen Scully so relaxed, so free; he liked it. He wanted to make her happy, to see her like this more often.

“… So Dana gets to this party,” Ellen was saying, “and she hasn’t had anything to eat for like, more than 24 hours, right Dane? And she’s wearing this strappy little…” At this point Ellen was laughing so hard, she was hitting the table gently with her palm, and her eyes filled with mirthful tears.

Scully was laughing too, shaking her head, “No, no,” she protested.

“Oh god, Dana, I have to tell it! So she’s wearing this strappy little dress and she hasn’t eaten in ages and then she gets to the party and Brian – oh god, remember Brian? What an idiot – anyway Brian starts pouring her one drink after another…”

The memories must have been flooding Scully’s mind because she was clutching her stomach and laughing until tears rolled down her face, anticipating the rest of the story. Mulder sat next to her, smiling, watching her in awe: he wanted desperately to know what little drunk Dana did at this party in her little strappy dress, and then he wanted to recreate it with her at his apartment sometime. Probably.

“So,” Ellen sucked in air, trying to regain a semblance of composure, “Dana was drunk as a skunk…”

“How drunk was I?” Scully asks, poking Ellen’s arm with one manicured finger.

“AS A SKUNK.” Ellen says again for emphasis. “Whatever that means. She was hammered, Mulder. Who would’ve thought a person as little as Dana could take down that much alcohol? Oh my gosh. So she’s falling-down drunk, dancing around the room, the straps of her dress have slid down her shoulders and one breast – “ Ellen guffaws as she mimics the action with her hand over her chest – “one breast has popped out of the strappy dress and she doesn’t even care!”

Scully’s breast, Mulder thinks, shaking his head to try to keep the image away. Don’t think about Scully’s perfect breast popping out of a dress. Damn it. Too late.

They were still laughing, breathlessly, and Ellen reached across the table and squeezed Scully’s hand in solidarity.

“Don’t tell him the rest,” Scully pleaded with her friend, giggling. Her hip pressed against Mulder’s under the table; he resisted the urge to put his hand on her leg. He wondered briefly if her legs were bare under that dress; if her knee was exposed; if he had the courage to place his hand there, would it meet with her skin?

Ellen smiled like the Cheshire cat and continued, “She ends up on this table, Mulder, barefoot, one boob out for the world to see and the mic in her hand, and she starts yelling that she’s always wanted to sing and she’s going to forget becoming a doctor and make a record – “

Scully was positively convulsing with silent laughter, tears rolling down her face, and she leaned into Mulder for physical support, shaking against him. Mulder wrapped one arm around her, squeezing her bare shoulder, relishing the feel of her soft skin against his fingers.

“So what happened with that, Scully?” he teased, turning his mouth against her hairline. She took a deep, restorative breath, her eyes dancing as she looked up at him. “Where’s the record? Must’ve been a big hit.”

“You heard it once, Mulder, remember? My hit single was Joy to the World.” She patted his thigh under the table, sending shivers of pleasure across Mulder’s body. He pulled her a little closer to himself. “Oh, Mulder. I woke up the next morning with a very bad headache and very little recollection of that. I vaguely remembered the wardrobe malfunction? Anyway, since then I have not been that drunk. I learned my lesson.”

“We did have fun that year, though,” Ellen sighed, rubbing her large belly and leaning back against the booth. “Between pregnancies and nursing, I haven’t had a drink in 10 years.”

“This is number 4 for Ellen and Jim,” Scully explained. Her breath was warm and wine-scented against the side of Mulder’s face and he breathed it in.

Mulder tried to pay the bill, but the ladies refused, each paying her own. As they headed out into the parking lot, Mulder had the sudden realization that, as much as they had invited him to sit for dinner, they may have plans afterwards that didn’t include her partner from work; he stammered something about having to get home as he stepped backwards towards his car.

“No, no, it’s me that has to go,” Ellen said graciously, and then executed a move Mulder had never seen before in order to hoist herself into her minivan. “If I don’t get to bed by 11, I will be a mess all day tomorrow. My little ones have us up by 6. Dana, I love you. It was so good to see you.”

Scully whispered something similar to her friend, squeezed her hand, helped her to close her van door.

They stood in the parking lot after Ellen had driven away, looking at one another.

“You look…you look really nice tonight, Scully,” Mulder said awkwardly, pulling on his tie. It suddenly felt tight around his neck as Scully gazed up at him with her ocean-blue eyes. She was relaxed, almost girlish, smiling softly at him in the moonlight.

“Mulder,” she began slowly, “what happened tonight? Did you follow us here?”

“Um… not exactly, Scully. I went by your place and you weren’t there so I… I came here for take-out. The rest, as they say, was history.”

“Or maybe fate?” she asked, reaching out for his hand.

Mulder thought he had died and gone to heaven as Scully played with his hand in hers. Her eyes – oh god, her eyes – had locked into his and sparkled with delight.

“Scully, I have something I want to tell you,” he started, wondering if this was the time and place to share his feelings, wondering how he should say it, wondering how she would respond.

“Me too, Mulder,” Scully said, and then surprised him by bringing his hand to her lips to kiss it softly. “I have something I want to say to you too. Can we go back to my place?”

Mulder, already semi-erect, heart pounding and hope soaring, wanted to bounce to her place – wanted to shout into the abyss that he loved this woman, that he was going to make love to this woman – maybe tonight, maybe not, that part would be up to her – that he had never been so happy in all his life. Instead, he took her hand to his own lips and kissed it in return.

He was about to ask her which car she wanted to take when she turned her body fully into his and kissed him on the mouth again, softly, sweetly, the taste of the wine she’d had with dinner mingling with his beer and homemade fettucine. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, just like he’d imagined; her body small and strong against his, her tongue brushing his bottom lip seductively. Her hands travelled over his waist, resting on his hips, pulling him into her; his erection now pressed into her belly, and she moved herself against him – and moaned into his kiss.

Moaned. Scully had moaned. Mulder thought he might internally combust, and had to take a moment to close his eyes and breathe.

“God, Scully,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her back tightly, weaving one hand into her soft hair. “I can’t believe this is happening,”

“I think it’s time,” she said, and tilted her face up to kiss him again. “Take me home, Mulder.”

He opened the car door for her, silently thanked fate, or destiny, or whatever it was that had allowed the love of his life to fall, at the same time, in love with him – and to want him, it seemed, with the same ferocious intensity – and guided his partner home.


End file.
